


Lancebreaker

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Combat, Developing Obsession, M/M, No Lube, Nonconathon Treat, Object Insertion, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis
Summary: Zenos seeks to provide inspiration.With the way the Eorzeans speak of their “Warrior of Light,” Zenos was expecting—hoping for—a monster, someone larger than life who could give him the challenge his soul craves. But no, his opponent is merely human.





	Lancebreaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noceu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noceu/gifts).



With the way the Eorzeans speak of their “Warrior of Light,” Zenos was expecting—hoping for—a monster, someone larger than life who could give him the challenge his soul craves. But no, his opponent is merely human, nearer in build to a Doman than an Ala Mhigan, somberly and unremarkably handsome. He has more courage than most of the cringing animals Zenos rules over, and he’s light enough on his feet to avoid the terrible strikes of Ame no Habakiri that would cut their dance short, but he’s only a man. 

“How much longer can you hold out?” Zenos asks, stalking across the savaged ground between them. At the edges of their battlefield, cowering soldiers unworthy of his blade watch him duel their would-be champion. “You make for better sport than your companions, but you’re nearing your limits, aren’t you?”

The Warrior of Light says nothing, narrowing his eyes and shifting his grip on his lance. To be expected, but a boring response all the same. 

Zenos feigns a moment of distraction, as though one of the spectators were brave enough to try to join the fray, and his opponent takes the invitation—lunging for him with that heavy lancehead pointed at a narrow gap between armor plates. It’s a good strike, confident and true. A mindless beast would have no defense ready. A mere man wouldn’t have the power to meet it. 

Zenos twists just enough to catch the blow against the smooth curve of his breastplate, stepping closer to strike open-handed—his palm connecting with the Warrior of Light's sternum hard enough to make the man stagger backward and lose his footing as his lance slides harmlessly off Zenos' armor. This won't even require all the power Zenos has attained, will it? He sheathes his blade, then pulls off his helm and tosses it aside, welcoming the flood of returning sensation as his third eye is bared: the sense of _place_ that comes with that extra depth, the ability to truly see how his surroundings array themselves before him.

The Warrior of Light mistakes that for a lowering of guard and leaps for him, lance raised. But if anything it's easier now to respond; Zenos grabs the shaft of the lance in both hands, before the point can reach his face, and snaps it in half. He smacks the man across the face with one of the pieces, and Eorzea's proud champion goes flying, sprawling dazed in the dirt. 

"You were so _close_ ," Zenos says. He tosses away the head of the lance and lunges, crossing their squalid arena before his opponent can begin to rise. A knee between his shoulderblades keeps him down, pinned and struggling for breath. "I wanted to believe I'd found someone who could inspire me at last, someone who could make me _feel_ —but you're still crawling in the muck with the rest of these worms after all."

The Warrior of Light tries to twist free, to no avail. One of his more foolhardy but valiant comrades charges at Zenos, brandishing a sword. It takes the span of a breath to disembowel the would-be rescuer, barely even a distraction, but the bright spray of crimson and the very simplicity of it shake Zenos free of his despondency. Most men are nothing. But the one pinned beneath him need not remain so.

He plants his katana in the earth—one of his lesser blades; Ame no Habakiri would have been offended as he is by such an easy kill—and looks down at his prey. Even pinned, face down and weaponless, the Warrior of Light doesn't want to give up. He just needs some fuel to make his fire burn brighter.

Zenos reaches down, grabs the waistband of the man's steppe finery, and yanks it down around his thighs. Immediately the Warrior of Light finds the will to struggle, as though the threat to his dignity gives him fresh strength. "Still not ready to surrender?"

The man's shoulders flex, powerful muscle still unable to throw him off. "I will _never_ surrender to you."

"Good." Zenos' own arousal faded quickly once his opponent's weapon broke, but he has other options. He flips the broken lance haft around and shoves the gnarled butt end of it into his prey's ass. The muscle resists, too tight and dry to take it, and the Warrior of Light makes a sound like a wounded beast. "I want you angry. I want you savage." He twists the lance haft and watches the shudder of pain run up his prey's spine. "I want you to remember this. I could have killed you. I've chosen not to, so that you can remember this." He pulls it back far enough that the thickest part of the lance butt is stretching the raw flesh of his prey's asshole and rams it in again.

The Warrior of Light grunts with pain, clawing reflexively at the dirt. "Won't—nnh—forget," he grits out. Even humiliated and in pain he sounds more angry than afraid. Maybe he is the one, or he could be.

"Hate me," Zenos demands. The need that leaves him restless all the time is worse now, hungrier, as if even the possibility of finding a true challenger is rousing his blood. He drives the lance haft in again and again, fucking the Warrior of Light with it mercilessly. "Remember this humiliation and let it drive you. Find your power, _Warrior of Light_. Overcome your limits and challenge me." There's blood on the lance haft now. He leans down, putting more weight on his adversary's back as he hisses, "The next time I defeat you, I will use the other end of your lance."

"I—will—kill you," the Warrior of Light gasps, with what little breath he has left.

Zenos lets go, leaving the lance haft embedded as he rises, stepping back to let his adversary breathe. "I look forward to it."

He walks away, back toward his waiting entourage and the tiresome duties that stand between him and pursuit of the hunt. Cowed rebels scurry toward their champion to offer him aid, and he lets them go. He'll need the Warrior of Light to be in nothing less than perfect form the next time they meet. The idea makes him smile as he rejoins his cortege.

He can't wait.


End file.
